


The Beauty of it (extended edition)

by JohnLockDivision



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Drugs, Gen, Great Hiatus, Kid John, Kid Sherlock, Kidlock, M/M, Magical Realism, Overdosing, Post-Reichenbach, Pre-Reichenbach, Soulmates, Soulnames, Teen John, Teenlock, Unilock, army John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:24:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2113269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnLockDivision/pseuds/JohnLockDivision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And extended version of my short piece called 'The beauty of it.'</p>
<p>Everyone has a 'Soulname' etched onto their wrist, the name of their soulmate.<br/>This has always frustrated Sherlock, as John is such a common name.<br/>But what exactly does John's Soulname say? </p>
<p>First Chapter follows Sherlock from childhood until he meets John. The rest of the chapters will (hopefully) follow the series as close as possible, although I may gloss over some bits! </p>
<p>*I HAVE ALREADY WRITTEN WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN IN THE SHORT VERSION OF THIS STORY, SO DON'T READ THAT IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW!!! (Or, go read it if I'm taking too long to update!!) *</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock's Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quesarasara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quesarasara/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The beauty of it.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1532003) by [JohnLockDivision](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnLockDivision/pseuds/JohnLockDivision). 



> I wrote a short AU called 'The beauty of it.' which was recced by Quesarasara during her fic 'Colors' (which is an AMAZING soulmate AU that everyone should read), during which she offered her kingdom for a longer version...so here it is! I'm not sure if the rest of it is going to be much good, but given that the first chapter alone is longer than the original piece, I'm hoping it'll be acceptable!
> 
> Quesarasara, if you're reading this, you can keep your kingdom - I would just like petting rights for the two grumpy cats (and giant dog).

The entire premise of the Soulname frustrated Sherlock – it always had.

The very idea that he was supposed to fall in love with some stranger simply because they bore each other’s names on their wrists was preposterous.

 

Of course, he hadn’t always thought it was such a bad idea.

 

ooOoo

 

When he had first started school, he was just a little boy called William with wild hair and big blue eyes, eagerly searching for another little boy called John. Of course it only took him a matter of days to rule out the 10 John’s that were in school; there was no way they were his Soulmate. His Soulmate would gladly follow him about on his (pirate) adventures, and understand that although they could both be captains, John’s should always follow the mighty Captain Sherlock.

 

ooOoo

 

By the time he had started his new school, along with half his classmates, William was already being singled out as ‘that weird kid’. He had lost his eagerness, but still spent the first week and a half working his way through the John’s. It was only when he came home after the last John had physically pushed him away (and that’s something his Soulmate would never do. John’s weren’t meant to hurt Captain Sherlock. There were meant to hurt the other people) that Mycroft sat him down and explained that most people didn’t find their soulmates until they left school, that what Sherlock did wasn’t normal. That when you met your Soulmate, you just knew; it didn’t take a week to decide.

 

That didn’t stop William looking though.

 

ooOoo

 

The day he started at Eton, Will had changed his name to the more unique ‘Sherlock’, and already located 25 John’s.

Within the week he was ‘curly Shirly’ and withint the month his real name came out and he was branded ‘weird Will’. It was only a matter of time before the first John he had ever managed to befriend left him alone with the bullies. That was something his Soulmate would never do. John’s were meant to protect Sherlock’s from bullies and bad guys and patch him up afterwards, not leave him to their mercy and then refuse to look at him afterwards.

 

But still he didn’t give up.

 

ooOoo

 

Each year he would keep a careful eye out for each John, until his 16th birthday.

 

On his 16th birthday Sherlock received the customary ‘Soulname Explanation Book’ – a book given to each child on their 16th birthday, explaining the history of the Soulname, the science behind it (or what they knew of it), ‘interesting statistics’, services available, and what to do if you felt you had met your mate. Most people only ever read the last two sections, occasionally flicking to the statistics in times of boredom, but Sherlock was unlike other people – reading the entirety of the book multiple times, realising as he did so that as he was born with his name, his John must be older than him.

 

Sherlock devoted the remainder of his school career learning as much as possible about soulnames, learning about those unlucky ones who were ‘unetched’ – those who were still waiting for their soulnames to appear on their 18th birthday.

 

ooOoo

 

Sherlock approached University with some trepidation; he already knew what would happen. He would work his way through the John’s, before giving into the bullies and isolating himself.

However, he was unprepared for how big the student body was, with 50 John’s in his college alone.

 

Therefore Sherlock devoted himself to his studies. Using the chemistry lab liberally for any experiment that his mind could come up with, which was where he met his second John-friend.

This John was a chemistry student who was often leaving the lab as Sherlock entered. They had never exchanged names, although as Sherlock began to arrive earlier and John left later, they began talking and struck up a vague friendship. It wasn’t to last however, as apparently John couldn’t stomach the latest of Sherlock’s experiments; the dissection of the soulname of a dead man, trying to work out where the ‘ink’ came from.

 Thus, John became another voice to call Sherlock ‘Freak’, and that was the last time Sherlock tried to befriend a John. It wasn’t worth it; John’s were meant to understand about the experiments, even if they didn’t condone them, and were meant to have a strong stomach. The fact that this John had paled at an _arm_ for God’s sake! John’s were meant to be strong.

 

No, Sherlock would have to wait for his John to find him.

 

ooOoo

 

It was in his second year that Sherlock met Victor Trevor (after being attacked by his dog) and they hit is off straight away.

 

After ‘admitting’ to Victor that he was unetched, a lie that rolled easily off Sherlock’s tongue since he had first begun saying it after the second John incident, they entered into a romantic relationship. Victor’s mark was ‘scarred’ – his Soulmate had, apparently, died a couple of years earlier before Victor had had the chance to meet him. Therefore, they were perfect together.

Of course, it all went wrong when Sherlock travelled home with Victor, throwing his home life into disarray with his deductions and leaving Sherlock abandoned and alone once more.

 

Entering his third year, it was clear that Sherlock no longer cared about himself. He no longer argued with Sebastian or his gang of fools when they called his ‘Freak’ or other such things. He no longer attended his lectures or did anything other than his experiments; both chemical and social – picking up men and women alike in bars, discussing their soulnames and status before taking them home for a quick tumble and then sending them on their way.

 

ooOoo

 

It was really no surprise when he found drugs, although the fact that his dealer was also called John was a cruel twist.

 

The first time he shot up, Sherlock saw a red line, almost like a thread, wrapped around his wrist, leading out into the world somewhere. He watched as his Soulname pulsed, the name growing and unfurling before it would shrink back to the original size, changing colours along the way.

He had never seen something more beautiful.

That is, until he overdosed.

The world had exploded into colour, the name seemed to fly off his wrist, and Sherlock struggled to follow it, chasing it down the street, not caring as he knocked people out his way.

He followed the name, followed the thread, until he it stopped by his dealer, helpfully labelling him as ‘John’.

 

But no, no no no no NO this was WRONG. His thread was still there, leading him into the great unknown. This John just watched as he collapsed at his feet, pulling out a phone to call an ambulance before stepping over the body in front of and walking away.

No. John’s were meant to look after Sherlock’s. This wasn’t his John.

 

He found a new dealer, didn’t bother learning his name.

 

He kept watching his thread, worked out how to balance on the edge of overdose, so the world didn’t explode so much as brighten slightly, his thread lingering for longer.

 

It was his thread that lead him to the crime scene, the bright blood on the floor more of a siren than those of the police cars. The answer was so obvious, why could no one SEE? Not even that police officer his name had so kindly pointed out for him as ‘John’? Idiots. All of them.

 

ooOoo

 

Sherlock began searching for the crime scenes himself, be him high, low or somewhere in between.

He explained his observations to many people, the officers guarding the scenes, the DIs, anyone he could find who was working the case. None of them would listen.

 

Then came his second OD; his thread (and his name) lead him past the first three crime scenes, Sherlock stopping in ally’s to top up whenever his thread threatened to disappear, until the name hovered near a rather moody looking woman called Sally. Of course, she called Sherlock ‘Freak’ within minutes of his explanations, but to Sherlock is wasn’t an insult, instead it was a sign he was in the right place. With more determination than he had possessed in a while, he managed to find one of the more senior members of the team, a man called Lestrade. For the first time someone listened to Sherlock. Of course, then he messed it up by collapsing.

 

ooOoo

 

Waking up in hospital, he was greeted to the sight of his brother conversing with the man who had brought him in, that Lestrade man. Noticing the now conscious man, the pair approached him, refusing to listen to his reasons as to why he was doing this. Eventually, with a promise of more crime scenes should he remain clean, he was packed off to a hateful clinic in Switzerland.

 

Things seemed better for a while. He had come to respect Lestrade, and was in fact extremely grateful for the cases. He had even managed a relative truce with his brother and had managed to worm his way into the hospital labs at Bart’s for his experiments.

 

ooOoo

 

Yes, things were going better…until he woke up one night to a searing pain in his wrist, to see the name beginning to scar.

 

**NO!**

 

Stumbling up, through the pain, Sherlock grabbed his emergency supply. He knew what this meant; that the truce with Mycroft would be off, that it was possible he would no longer be allowed to crime scenes, but he _needed_ to know. _Needed_ to see his thread, to know his John was still alive.

He gasped as the drug hit his system. Grasped his wrist as he watched the thread flicker, the name dim. Soon his eyes were full of tears, blurring his thread. Pushing the rest of the drug into his arm, Sherlock knew he couldn’t bear to live without the knowledge that there was at least one person out there to love him, Sherlock felt the blissful hands of sleep reaching for him. He watched his thread flicker, intending to close his eyes as it disappeared, wanting to die with his mate.

 

He was not expecting the thread to grow old again. His mate was _fighting_. His John was _strong_. His John was a _fighter_.

 

Sherlock couldn’t die. Not now. Not before he met this man who was so close to death that his name had begun to scar, and yet fought his way back into life.

Scrambling for his phone, Sherlock managed to dial Lestrade’s number before he could no longer hold on. He let the colours drown him, never losing sight of the thread, now thrumming with life, until the colours suffocated him, blending together into the brightest white that Sherlock had ever seen.

 

He knew now what death was. Death was more than a body on the ground. Death was beauty, and it had killed the beast inside Sherlock’s body. And the beauty of it, the irony that Sherlock wished he had the strength to laugh at, was that he no longer wished to die.

Closing his eyes to the light, Sherlock heard his door break open as the darkness swallowed him once more.

 

ooOoo

 

Yes, the very idea that he was supposed to fall in love with some stranger simply because they bore each other’s names on their wrists was preposterous, but his John was no stranger. Sherlock knew his John was strong, had seen the beauty of death and yet found the courage to come back, to live.

So when Mike Stanford led a wounded John into Sherlock’s life, he knew this was the one.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I thought I'd post a quick explanation of various terms that may appear in this fic!!
> 
> Soulname - The name written on a person's wrist, the name of their Soulname.
> 
> Etched - What it is called (officially) to have a Soulname.
> 
> Unetched - What is is called to not have a Soulname by your 18th birthday. Occasionally a name does appear later, suggesting a large age difference, but usually the Unetched are psychologically unable to fall in love, and therefore unable to have a Soulmate. Some people believe it is possible to have an Unetched Soulmate, as you could love them even if it was not reciprocated. However, few people choose this path, preferring instead to keep searching for their name on someone else's wrist.
> 
> Scarred - When a soulmate dies, their respective soulname fades and their soulmate becomes 'Scarred'.
> 
> Bi-Etched and Poly-etched - Sometimes people are born with more than one name. No one is certain why. It can be indicative of a Polyamourous relationship, a promise of love after their first Soulmate has died, or simply that they will fall in love with two people at once. John was once in a relationship with two Bi-etched, although the second name on their wrists was 'Johnathon' and they all agreed that John was temporary. Anderson is a Bi-etched, although rather than come clean to his wife about Sally, he instead prefers to keep it secret, as does his wife who would rather not share their bed.


	2. John's story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the story of how John ended up walking into the lab at Bart's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> I've added a couple of definitions in the notes section of the last chapter, and I'll probably add to it as required!

John had been born without a soulname, but his parents weren’t worried – after all, only 50% of people were born with one, being the younger half of their couples.

What worried them was that when it appeared somewhere between his second and third birthdays, it wasn’t a nice neat name scrawled upon his wrist, but a messy scribble that didn’t much look like anything.

After taking John to several doctors, it was eventually determined that perhaps he would ‘grow into it’ and become more legible, handing his parents contact details for a variety of services, including therapists in case the nature of his soulname distressed John, and translators, should the soulname prove to be in a foreign language.

 

ooOoo

 

However, little John wasn’t bothered about his soulname at all (and frankly couldn’t see what all the grown-ups were fussing about).

Starting school, he found it easier than some children to make friends, unworried about whether this was *his* Hannah or Katherine, as many of his schoolmates seemed to fret over.

Upon discovering girls, John was quite happy to date without prejudice, asking any girl who showed the slightest interest in him.

When he was 15 his sister Harry found her Soulmate in Clara, and his parents held their breath for the turmoil they were expecting at when John realised his Soulname could refer to a boy; it didn’t happen. Instead, John widened his glance, coming to appreciate the male form as well, although he never dated a boy – they didn’t seem to hold the same attraction for him as any of the girls.

 

ooOoo

 

It was only upon his 16th birthday that reality slapped John in the face, receiving his book and appreciating for the first time that he was different from everyone else. He would probably never know for sure if he met his mate. Would never be able to use a dating service if he was getting anxious as he couldn’t register the name he was looking for.

From then on John threw himself into research – learning the science behind the Soulnames, wondering if perhaps he has some unknown disease that could be treated, or even some problem with whatever caused the soulnames that could be treated with a simple operation.

With all this research it seemed natural for John to become a doctor.

 

ooOoo

 

Upon reaching university, John had exhausted all medical sources possible when it came to Soulnames, turning instead to logic and linguistics.

 

By day he attended his lectures and met with language students, showing the picture he had drawn of his Soulname, not telling them what it was of course, and asking them to translate. He had been told it wasn’t Sanscrit, Korean, Japanese, Chinese, Greek or Russian. The nearest guess that it was from the Middle East, but even then the student in question hadn’t made out any meaning, only claiming it looked vaguely Arabic.

 

By night he visited the pubs, clubs and other student hot spots; picking up anyone with the Soulname ‘John’, dating without prejudice.

The more complicated story, the better. John dated men and women of any gender; Cis, Trans, Genderfluid, Non-Binary and Androgynous, in the hope that perhaps his Soulname would suddenly make sense. It never did.

It was only when John found himself in a polyamorous relationship (between the genderfluid, native Welsh speaker, Morgan and the Saudi beauty and part time drag queen Malik/Myriam) that John thought perhaps he had gone too far.

 

ooOoo

 

He hadn’t met his Soulmate yet, but John could tell the army was the best place for him to be.

Here he no longer had time to worry about what his Soulname meant, nor did he have hours to waste on useless research that got him nowhere. Here, every minute was planned and regimented.

It was in the army barracks that he built muscle and friendships.

It was during one of the few weeks they had free a year that John earned his title of ‘Three Continents’ – bedding first an Italian man and French woman in the same bed on the same night, followed by the American twins the second night and Brazilian model the third.

Some of the blokes found the fact John bedded a man slightly hard to swallow, so John thought it best not to reveal his past escapades, instead accepting the mantel with his classic charming smile, claiming it was just lucky that they had all bore the name ‘John’ (or ‘Jean’) upon their wrists, and clearly it was his duty to make them happy.

 

ooOoo

 

John was one of the only men looking forward to Afghanistan, hoping it would take him one step closer to finding his Soulmate.

He dove into the culture and the language, learning both Pashto and Farsi, as well as a little Arabic.

However, by his third tour it was clear his Soulname was written in none of these, but John felt so at home here it didn’t matter, signing up for tour after tour, watching his brothers leave, both alive and dead, and climbing through the ranks.

 

When John was shot his first thought was ‘Bugger’, followed shortly by a lot of expletives. However, among those thoughts were ‘Sod it, I’ve missed her, haven’t I?’

Lying on the ground, feeling his blood seeping out of him, John sent a silent apology to his Soulmate, wherever they were, before begging God to let him live.

“Oh God, please. Let me live. God. I need to meet them, just once. Please God, let me live.”

As John closed his eyes for what he thought was the last time, he swore he could see a string stretching out in front of him, and a voice, the most beautiful voice he had ever heard, screaming his name with such agonising desperation that John thought maybe…just maybe…he was not meant to meet his Soulmate in life, and would instead find them in whatever lay after this.

 

When he told the nurses this upon waking in hospital, they agreed it was indeed a beautiful thought, but obviously not to be.

John didn’t mind too much, while pumped with Morphine he could just about see the red string that seemed to lead from his Soulname, which was still there upon his wrist.

There was still hope.

 

ooOoo

 

The hope only lasted until England.

Sitting in his drab bedsit, John realised that his Soulname made as much sense as it had before, but not he had nothing left to go on.

His dating pool dwindled down to practically nobody, let alone those with his name on their wrists. John barely left his flat, journeying only to collect his pension and visit his therapist.

It was while he was returning to his flat from another useless meeting with Ella that he met Mike Stamford, who lead him to the most incredible man that John had ever met.


	3. A Study in Pink

_…this was the one._

Wait, where had that come from? The thought had sprung, unbidden, into Sherlock’s mind. 

 _Ridiculous, you don’t know just like_ that _, whatever Mycroft said._

_We aren’t meant to get our hopes up any more, remember?_

Having learnt his lesson from past mistakes, Sherlock decided to speed up the name-calling part of the relationship; why Mike thought this man would be a suitable flatmate was anyone’s guess.

 

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“Sorry?”

Honestly, need he repeat himself?

Oh well, he may at least pretend to care for a while, prove to Mike that he is at least trying.

“How do you feel about the violin?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Really? Did Sherlock need to add ‘deaf’ to his list of deductions?

Doesn’t seem too put off by the minor observation that he is also looking for a flatmate, so just maybe…

“Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it. We’ll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o’clock. Sorry – got to dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary.”

 

Sherlock made to leave, before the inevitable downfall. He preferred there not to be an audience.

 

“Is that it?”

_Interesting – he_ does  _have a backbone. Excellent._

_Oh well, I guess it’s time to unleash the observations._

“I know you’re an Army doctor and you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you’ve got a brother who’s worried about you but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him – possibly because he’s an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife and  Soulmate, while you are still searching for yours. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp’s psychosomatic – quite correctly, I’m afraid. That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think?”

_Wait, don’t you want to know for sure? Just your name…that’s all it’ll take._

“The name’s Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street.”

  _No recognition…damn. And it seemed so good._

With a final wink to hide his staring, Sherlock was gone, his search for ‘John’ still ongoing.

 

ooOoo

 

24 hours later John was sitting in a taxi on the way to a crime scene with a man he barely knew.

Was this really going to be his life from now on?

He could imagine worse.

Sherlock Holmes was a force to be reckoned with, a whirlwind of never ending energy. The half hour John had spent with the man was enough to tell him this. God help his Soulmate.

Did he even have a Soulmate? He couldn’t imagine Sherlock being the sort of person to mope over not finding his mate. He probably knew exactly who his mate was, but then why did he need John?

Maybe he hadn’t met them yet, or maybe he was Scarred.

That would explain a lot.

 

“Ok, you’ve got questions.”

 

John was startled by the voice next to him, wondering if Sherlock could read minds. Better to be safe than sorry, he asked where they were going, and suddenly Sherlock was telling John his life story and John was handing over his phone, again.

 

“Harry Watson: clearly a family member who’s given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man’s gadget. Could be a cousin, but you’re a war hero who can’t find a place to live. Unlikely you’ve got an extended family, certainly not one you’re close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who’s Clara? Three kisses says it’s a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model’s only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he’s just given it away. If she’d left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You’re looking for cheap accommodation, but you’re not going to your brother for help: that says you’ve got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don’t like his drinking. More likely you see the fact that he has left his Soulmate an unforgivable offence, especially when you have not yet met yours.”

“What makes you think that?”

“As I said before; just home for war with no one to turn to? No, you’ve not got a Soulmate.”

“And the drinking?”

“Shot in the dark, good one though.”

 

John could scarcely believe what he was hearing. This man had just deduced his life and status, as well as Harry’s, and yet could still admit to taking a guess.

Sherlock Holmes wasn’t as tough as he appeared.

 

 

ooOoo

 

Sherlock braced himself for the inevitable fallout from his deductions.

Perhaps a taxi was not the best place for this.

 

“That was…”

 

_Weird, freakish, insane, creepy, what was it to be this time? He hoped John was a little more imaginative than the last one._

“…amazing.”

 

 _What? Really?_ Extraordinary _? Haven’t heard that one before._

“That’s not what people normally say.”

“What do they normally say?”

“Piss off.”

 

And suddenly they were laughing, in the back of a cab.

Sherlock Holmes had made a John laugh _with_ him not _at_ him. At his deductions! On the way to a crimescene!

Somewhere in his mindpalace, Sherlock placed a filing cabinet labelled ‘Watson’ into his ‘John’ room – he thought he might need it.

 

The next hour was a bit of a blur for Sherlock – a partially Scarred, Bi-Etched woman lay dead on the floor (clearly her first partner had died, although who knew about the second? It certainly wasn’t her husband.), and it was only a matter of minutes until Sherlock knew what he had to do; flying off into the night in search of a suitcase.

 

ooOoo

 

Watching Sherlock race out the building, John knew chasing him was a lost cause.

Limping past the surly woman they had passed before, receiving her unwelcome advice, John began to walk back to his tired little bedsit, not noticing the ringing phones until a particularly annoying one caught his attention.

 

“You appear to be very eager to have my attention. What is it?”

“Look at the cameras all around you. Do you see?”

 

John watched as the CCTV cameras seemed to turn away from the booth he was standing in, leaving him to the mercy of this mysterious voice on the phone.

 

“You don’t need to play games with me.”

“Just asserting my position, Doctor. It’s about time we had a meeting. Please get in the car.”

 

John did as he was told, grumbling about ‘Bloody James Bond level dramatics’, although secretly pleased for the lift.

 

He was in a warehouse…of course he was. Nothing else would be dramatic enough.

He refused to sit in front of this man; he wanted to be seen as an equal, or at least not seen as an invalid.

 

“You know, you could have called me, on my actual phone. If you can call 5 phone booths, 2 chippies and simultaneously control 10 cameras, I’m sure you could manage that much.”

“I was trying to be discreet.”

“And of course that means mysterious phone calls and illicit meetings?”

“This meeting is hardly ‘illicit’ Dr Watson. Are you sure you don’t want a seat?”

“Quite sure.”

“You don’t seem very frightened?”

“You’re not very scary.”

 

Honestly, as soon as John found out what this man wanted, the better. He annoyed John, for some reason, although, somehow, John wouldn’t label him a ‘bad guy’, merely a powerful one.

 

Of course Sherlock would text him during this; he would so hate to find out someone was being more dramatic than him.

 

“I can see from your left hand that isn’t going to happen.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Show me.”

 

Now this man had gone too far. It was one thing to kidnap him and make vague attempts and bribery and blackmail. It was quite another to make allusions towards his Soulname.

 

“Normally you have an intermittent tremor in your left hand, but you’re currently under pressure and it’s not there now. You’re not haunted by the war, you miss it. Of course there’s also the case of your Soulname, but I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that.

Welcome back, Captain Watson.”

 

Poncy Git.

Sherlock _so_ owed him.

 

ooOoo

 

Ah good, John was finally home, mumbling something about Sherlock owing him something.

Mycroft had already picked him up then. That’s one less thing to worry about.

He definitely had to apologise to John about that; perhaps he would find dinner acceptable…?

 

 

 

ooOoo

 

For some reason, they had ended up in a rather lovely Italian place, not that John was complaining.

In fact, this was probably the perfect time to ask Sherlock his real questions, the ones he had been considering all day. Perhaps Sherlock was distracted enough to answer.

 

“So you don’t have a Soulmate then?”

“Mmm…nope.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Not really my area.”

“Boyfriend then? Which is fine by the way….”

 

Didn’t want to come off too interested, just ‘feeling the way’ as it were. Trying to work out whether Sherlock would be amenable to a relationship to someone who was not their Soulmate.

 

“John, while I am flattered you should know that I am Unetched, and as such consider myself married to my work and am not really looking for any…”

“No, it’s fine. I wasn’t offering, but it’s good to know. Just, in case, um. Well.”

 

John trailed off, Sherlock once again turning his attention to the street outside.

 

“You do know that many Unetched people have successful relationships? So if you’re worried, don’t be.”

“As I said; Not. Interested.”

 

That was that then.

 

An hour later they were back at Baker St, trying to catch their breaths between the laughing, and John couldn’t quite believe that there wasn’t someone out there for this beautiful, vibrant man.

 

ooOoo

 

Angelo’s knock on the door couldn’t have been better timed; it looked as though John had been gearing up to say something that Sherlock was 80% sure he wouldn’t be interested in.

Lestrade’s interference, on the other hand…

 

“Drugs bust.”

“This guy, a junkie? Really?”

 

So this is where it all went wrong then. Surely Doctor Watson could never bring himself to live with an addict, recovering or not.

 

“John, I suggest you don’t say any more.”

“What, why? Sherlock...really?”

“Shut up.”

 

Sherlock could hear the disbelief in John’s voice, followed by the vague sense of having his illusions of Sherlock shattered. Just as well really, the idolising would get old quickly.

 

“Lestrade, I swear I’m clean.”

 

Rounding on Lestrade, Sherlock rolled up his sleeves – revealing the still healing signs of his last overdose, but nothing more.

 

“I’m sorry Sherlock, I just had to check.”

“I explained why that was.”

 

Lestrade inspected Sherlock for a minute, apparently accepting that the reason Sherlock had given him in the hospital was still valid. He then pulled out a box of nicotine patches, handing them to Sherlock whilst promising that they would clear out the flat once he gave them what they came for.

 

Right, better make this quick then.

 

_Ignore John; don’t want to see the judgement in his eyes. Get him to look at something else…laptop. Right. GPS on the phone…clever lady._

_No, the phone was here? That’s not right. Wasn’t in the case, would have seen it. Somewhere else then._

_What else? Something important._

_What was Mrs Hudson going on about now? Someone shut that woman….OH. OH! Brilliant!_

_Police would make a mess. Would never get answers. Evasion tactics needed._

_Time to get some answers._

ooOoo

 

John heard the words ‘Drugs Bust’ and suddenly it made sense why Sherlock had not found a partner until now (in any sense of the word).

Still, John was not one to back away from a challenge, and if accepting that Sherlock used to be a junkie was all it took to repay the man who had cured his limp and practically brought him back to life…well. John guessed he could put up with a few drug busts every now and then.

 

However, he watched Sherlock leave with a vague sense of unease; it didn’t seem like him to simply ‘need some air’.

Oh well, at least the police were packing up.

Walking Lestrade out, hearing his assurances that Sherlock had been clean for almost two years when he last ODed a few months ago, John returned to the flat and was about to close the laptop when he noticed the dot had moved.

Stupid git.

John grabbed his gun and with one last look at the address the phone, and presumably Sherlock, was now at, John ran out of the door, chasing after this mad man.

 

ooOoo

 

“They keep putting a blanket on me. Why do they keep putting a blanket on me?”

“It’s for shock.”

 

This was ridiculous. Sherlock was not in shock. A little annoyed at himself for throwing the pill away, maybe. And itching to find out who or what ‘Moriarty’ was, but not in shock.

In fact he could tell more about the shooter now then the police would ever know.

 

“The bullet they just dug out of the wall’s from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that’s a crack shot you’re looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn’t have shaken at all, so clearly he’s acclimatised to violence. He didn’t fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You’re looking for a man probably with a history of military service…”

 

_Ah, John was here, good._

“…nerves of steel…”

 

_John was here. John was in the army. John has a gun. John._

“You know what, ignore me. Ignore all that…it’s just the shock talking.”

 

_John could prove very useful. An army doctor._

_An army doctor who finds my deductions amazing rather than freakish, is willing to follow me around and defend me from bad guys. And a doctor means no more unnecessary trips to hospital. He might even be ok with the body parts in the fridge._

 

“I believe I still owe you dinner.”

 

ooOoo

 

As the pair walked away, Mycroft Holmes couldn’t help but remember the ‘John-list’ Sherlock had made over the years; so far it seemed as though John Watson was ticking every box.

 

 

 


	4. The Blind Banker

After the ‘Study in Pink’ case (as John had so christened it) life seemed to settle into some sort of routine for the boys, with Sherlock taking cases and John running after him

It was during one such case that John was confronted with Sebastian Wilkes; the most arrogant tosser that John had ever met, which was saying something given he lived with Sherlock ‘I weep for humanity’ Holmes.

Within 5 minutes of sitting in his office, John was regretting correcting him earlier; Sherlock _was_ his friend, and he was damn well proud of it.

 

“So John, I’m assuming you’re scared then?”

“Excuse me?”

 _How dare he?_ You had to develop a certain level of acquaintance before you asked someone about their Soulname, and to just assume was downright rude.

“I said I assume you’re scared then? You don’t seem psychopathic like Holmes here, so I don’t know why else you would be hanging about him, if you weren’t scarred like the last one. How’s that for deduction, eh Sherlock? Whatever happened to Ol’ Victor anyway?”

_Yep, John was going to punch him._

“I don’t know who you think you are, Mr Wilkes, but Sherlock is not a psychopath, I am not scarred, we are not in a relationship. Even if we were, it would be no concern of yours, so I suggest you just tell us why we are here so we can solve _your problem_ for you.”

 

John felt the twin stare of two posh toffs, but resolutely did not look towards Sherlock, instead staring down Sebastian, letting him know _Captain Watson_ was not to be messed with.

 

John took great satisfaction in taking his money; take-aways were expensive when you didn’t have a job, and the large sum would go some way to make up for Wilkes’ manners.

 

It was only in the taxi on the way to Van Coon’s flat that John managed to ask about ‘Victor’, but all he received was a curt ‘I’m fine, John. It’s in the past, where it shall stay,” before Sherlock begun talking about pillars and John decided to leave it for another day.

 

oOo

 

Having lost an interesting case, Sherlock was sulking. And John wasn’t even here to humour him – he’d decided to get a job. How dull. That would never do; Sherlock needed his assistant. Who else would chase after him?

No this would never do.

Clearly they would take the case anyway, and John would see how much more exciting it was than a job at some dull little surgery.

Mind made up, Sherlock was interrupted from his plans by a call from Lestrade, and was soon inspecting pictures of the new crime scene and barely noticing the time passing until the room suddenly seemed to brighten as he heard John arrive home.

 

“I said, could you pass me a pen?”

There, that would show John how useful he was.

“Didn’t notice I’d gone out then?”

What? Of course he had noticed – how could he not? It was a lot quieter without John’s incessant thinking. Apparently John wasn’t interested in hearing that though.

“I went to see about that job at the surgery.”

“How was it?”

“It’s great, she’s great.”

She? Great. Apparently John was going to start bringing women back with him. He would have to do something about that. Thought for another day though.

Instead he began to fill John in on the new murder, revelling in the attention.

 

oOo

 

Whilst John’s day had started like any other relatively boring day, with a job interview and a pretty girl, it had culminated in this; being spun around by Sherlock Holmes, but by god John was enjoying every minute of it. Especially the surprise on his face when John revealed he possessed enough brains to take a photo.

Then he let Soo Lin die on his watch, which brought the mood down a bit, not to mention the fact that Sherlock had him up all night reading books.

Honestly, John was just lucky that Sarah seemed to like him. He was even luckier when he somehow managed to wrangle a date.

Now he just had to tell Sherlock.

Walking into the flat he hadn’t even opened his mouth before Sherlock was ordering him about (again).

 

“Actually, I’ve got a date.”

“What?”

“A date? It’s where two people who like each other go out and have fun?”

“That’s what I was suggesting.”

“No it’s not…at least I hope not.”

 _No, please no._ He thought Sherlock had made his thoughts quite clear at Angelo’s that first night, if this was him changing his mind, things were going to get awkward.

“Where are you taking her? Don’t tell me – cinema? Dull, boring. Take her to the circus instead.”

Phew, crisis averted. Apparently Sherlock _was_ just bored. At least he was offering John some useful advice.

 

Of course nothing could ever be that simple, could it? No, Sherlock bloody Holmes just had to come storming in, ruining his date and almost getting killed in the process.

And yet Sarah had followed them about, and was still sitting at Baker Street with him, laughing over Wotsits and agreeing to a Chinese takeaway.

She was a saint.

John thought he had somehow rescued the date from the pits of disaster, until there was an assassin at the door and he woke up tied to a chair.

He was going to kill Sherlock.

 

Of course Sherlock came swanning in to save the day, but that wasn’t the point; John would be lucky to have a job after this, let alone another date.

 

oOo

 

So that was the dating crisis averted then. He had caught a sight of Sarah’s Soulname while releasing her, and he knew for a fact that John spelt his name with a ‘h’. Therefore, although she did not seem as idiotic as some women, she would not be taking John up on his offer for a second date.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've done the first two episodes, and I'll probably do part of TGG, but I doubt I'll be doing whole episodes from now on! I'm to anxious to get to the interesting bits ;)


	5. The Great Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this fantastic transcript to use, so thank you to the author! 
> 
> http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/36505.html

Suddenly John’s life exploded – literally.

Rushing back to Baker Street after a night at Sarah’s, he really shouldn’t have been surprised to find the two Holmes brothers sitting conversing calmly in what looked like a bomb sight.

Damn them.

That was any chance of Sarah gone anyway.

 

oOo

 

Night on the sofa…interesting. Sherlock thought he had messed things up badly when John stormed over to Sarah’s last night, but clearly not.

In fact, he was currently siding with him over Mycroft, and had even deduced the real reason Mycroft was here.

Excellent. He was learning. Perhaps there was hope for him after all. Only one way to tell; clearly John would have to take Mycroft’s case instead.

 

oOo

Of course Sherlock had a psychopathic fan – John would expect nothing less.

And of course that meant he had to experiment on a pair of trainers – because clearly that was more important than finding top secret government plans.

But of course John couldn’t do it – _oh no, heaven forbid_ – instead he had to follow Sherlock around.

Which is what he was doing here, standing behind Sherlock, watching him cry to a grieving widow.

 

oOo

 

He knew John was angry with him for deceiving that ridiculous woman, but it was so obvious she was shamming just as much as he! The ‘scarring’ she had experienced was clearly badly applied makeup; the edges of the Soulname not clean enough, the colouring too uniform.

In fact, if the police had even bothered to ask her for the time of his death, they would soon realise the sham.

Idiots. The lot of them.

But not the bomber. No, he was interesting.

 

oOo

 

This really had to stop. They were sat in a café, eating for the first time in God knew how long, and still Sherlock was watching that blasted phone, waiting for the next puzzle.

He even looked excited when John pointed out it was like a game – obviously Monopoly would be too easy.

Oh well, at least he was getting a meal – OH FOR GOD’S SAKE, COULD HE NOT HAVE ONE HOUR?!?

Because the phone was going again, although this time Sherlock looked more than a little confused.

 

“That could be anybody.” He claimed, turning the phone to John so he could see the screen.

Fortunately, John had been pretty unemployed recently, and probably would be again soon, so he knew who this minor celebrity was; Connie Prince, Queen of the Make-Over.

Dead at 48.

Oh Joy.

 

oOo

 

The cat? _Really?_ Sherlock was really going to have to re-evaluate his opinion of John.

At least he had managed to connect the brother and the houseboy….eventually.

So they had won...technically.

Although John was now angry with him, for some reason. Not much cop, this caring lark.

Better things to focus on, like the next puzzle.

Security guard, killed because he knew something…probably about the new painting.

John’s angry…annoyed…distracting. Should probably send him somewhere else. Let him puzzle over that simple case Mycroft wanted.

 

oOo

 

Meeting Sherlock later, John told him everything he knew about the security guard – not that he was grateful. Instead he seemed more focused on the homeless woman handing him a note.

Climbing back into the cab that was currently waiting for them, John couldn’t quite stay angry; Sherlock was thrumming with electricity, setting his whole body alight.

He almost didn’t realise they had stopped, clambering out of the cab behind Sherlock, who seemed equally distracted by the sky.

 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

_Yes, he was._

“I thought you didn’t care for things like that.” _Did he?_

“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it.”

 

_Damn him. Damn him for being so mysterious with his cheekbones and hidden meanings and cryptic messages and confusing signals and….no. This was no time for another sexual crisis. Focus John._

“Nice part of town, any time you want to explain.”

 

Apparently they were looking for an assassin. Perfect.

 

oOo

 

John saved his life. Again.

Sherlock carefully filed away the image of John pointing a gun at his assailant, and wasn’t that a glorious sight, and saying those words;

 _“Let him go, or I_ will _kill you.”_

Who knew John could be so romantic?

Ugh, feelings. Complicated, annoying.

Later. He could examine later, when he was bored.

Not now. Now was The Game.

 

oOo

 

Sitting at Baker St later, it seemed as though everything had returned to normal – they had solved the last puzzle, admittedly cutting it close, and John had even managed to, inadvertently, convince Sherlock to solve the missile case.

Admittedly Sherlock was clearly still on edge, sitting in his coat, not quite relaxed, obviously waiting for the final pip.

 

“I’m going to the shops – need anything?”

“Milk.”

“Okay.”

Yep, definitely distracted.

 

Walking to Tesco, John felt nothing but a small prick in his neck before the world began to turn black, his final thought a very simple ‘Oh, fuck.’

 

oOo

 

Found: The Bruce-Partington Plans.

Please collect.

The Pool.

 

There, that should do it.

Sherlock paused for a moment, reconsidering his decision not to involve John.

 

_No, too messy. Emotions. He’s safer this way. I’ll be less distracted. I don’t need him - especially don’t need his disapproval. No, no John._

Double-checking that he possessed his phone, wallet and memory stick, Sherlock was soon on his way to the pool.

 

oOo

 

Ow. Bloody buggering fuck what the hell had they given him?

John’s head was pounding, and would someone please turn out the lights?

 

“Wakey-wakey!”

 

What an annoying voice.

 

John forced his eyes open to find himself in…a swimming pool?

 

“Not the most dramatic spot, I admit, but it wasn’t me who chose it, you see.”

 

John looked at the man speaking to him; barely disguising his shock at seeing Molly’s Jim smiling back at him.

 

“Jim?”

“Oh, you remember me? That’s good. I doubt Sherlock will though…he was much too interested in my puzzle, although that was the point I suppose.”

 

John made to stand up, before discovering his hands were bound behind him. Realising how heavy he felt for the first time, John glanced down in surprise, but could see nothing more than a green coat.

 

“Yes, wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise now, would we? Don’t worry, you’ll see soon enough.”

“I’m guessing I’m the last pip then?”

“Oooh, very good. I can see why he keeps you around.”

 

Suddenly Jim was upon him, forcing him to his feet and thrusting an earpiece into his ear.

 

“Don’t worry, Johnny boy, you’ll see him again soon enough. It’s almost midnight after all, and I expect he is very punctual.”

 

John was about to reply when he caught sight of Jim’s wrists, his blood running cold.

His wrists were bare – no sign of a Soulname anywhere.

 

“Tsk Tsk, looking at somebody’s wrists – you should know better than that. I suppose this means you won’t mind if I see yours then?”

 

John felt the sleeve of the jacket being moved up slightly – just enough for Jim to see his Soulname.

 

“Oh, well isn’t that interesting? And I’m guessing Sherlock doesn’t realise? How delightful! I was hoping you’d have his name, but this is much more fun.”

 

John was about to reply when Jim seemed to tense, apparently hearing some unknown cue in his own ear before his face seemed to transform, a sly grin appearing on his face.

 

“Show time, Johnny boy. I expect you know what to do by now.”

 

John felt his wrists being released before he was pushed into a cubicle, Jim’s voice echoing commands in his ear.

Somewhere he heard a door open.

 

oOo

 

“I’m here. I’ve brought you a present – that’s what this was all for, wasn’t it? Your little puzzles, trying to distract me from….this.”

 

Sherlock stopped his dialogue when John stepped out, feeling the air leave his lungs as if he had been punched in the gut.

 

“Evening.”

 

_No, not John. Please not John._

“This is a turn-up, isn’t it Sherlock?”

“John. What the hell…?”

_No. How did he miss this? John seemed so normal, so ordinary._

_Or at least, he used to. But then he solved cases and laughed and became so much more. To Sherlock, at least._

_Maybe that was the point._

“Bet you never saw this coming.”

_You’ve got that right. But why….ah._

Suddenly it was all clear – the parka parting to expose a semtex vest, and John was John again.

He was also strapped to a bomb, which could prove problematic.

 

He wouldn’t let Moriarty play with John like this.

 

“Come out and fight like a man.”

“Hi!”

 

This guy? This guy was Moriarty?

“Jim? Jim from IT? Remember me? I gave you my number…thought you might call.”

“We both know we’re not Soulmates, Jim.”

“Mmm, doesn’t mean we couldn’t be good together. And we could be _so_ good, Sherlock.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m going to have to decline.”

“Spoilsport.” Jim pouted, approaching where John was still stood.

“I suppose it’s because of Johnny boy, here? I don’t know why though, surely his Soulname…oh. Wait, that’s rude of me, isn’t it? Obviously you’ve seen it, so there’s no need for me to go any further.”

 

Sherlock said nothing, instead his eyes flicked to John’s, searching for the answer to whatever Moriarty was talking about. Instead, he found nothing but fear, determination and…apology?

Before he could blink, John suddenly had his arms around Moriarty’s neck, making it all clear.

 

“Run Sherlock! Just go, get out of here!”

 

How could he? Not when there was such an interesting mystery going on.

Not without John.

 

oOo

 

He didn’t know why Sherlock hadn’t run, but he was glad that at least he was going to die in the presence of such a man.

His only regret was never solving the mystery of his Soulname, but perhaps it was better this way – no broken hearts, no guilty feelings.

He took a deep breath, looking into Sherlock’s eyes and nodding. Watching as he raised the gun.

 

oOo

 

Of course, Moriarty wasn’t going to let them die there; that would be too simple, too easy.

No, he had something better planned for them.

But if Irene was lying to him, she was going to pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I wasn't going to do episodes anymore, but this is a pretty important one really.  
> I think I'll start skipping bits now though!!!


	6. Season 2

_Of course, Moriarty wasn’t going to let them die there; that would be too simple, too easy._

Well that was tedious – a simple phone call and Moriarty was wandering away.

How dull.

However he had left Sherlock with a gift; the mystery of John’s Soulname.

Clearly it wasn’t ‘Sherlock’ – Sherlock knew this much already.

However, it was obviously something interesting, or Moriarty wouldn’t have brought it up.

But what?

John would never let Sherlock see it voluntarily, and Sherlock had enough respect not to ask.

He would find out in time.

 

oOo

 

Sherlock was dragging him to see a dominatrix.

What could go wrong?

 

Oh, and look – she’s naked! Even better.

 

If he hadn’t just seen Sherlock naked in Buckingham palace, he might have been impressed.

 

oOo

 

Sherlock couldn’t get a clear reading on this Irene women, but John’s reactions were even more interesting.

 

_Uninterested in ‘The Women’ – clear check of her Soulname, but otherwise maintaining eye contact._

_Glance towards me – smirk – remembering this morning at the palace?_

_If so then this suggests he places myself above this woman._

_Tightened jaw – jealousy – not of me though. Of her. Of my attention._

_Ha! Now let’s see how he likes it._

oOo

 

57.

 

57 times that phone has made that noise.

 

And didn’t John hate himself for counting?

 

He didn’t know why he did this to himself, knowing that Sherlock could have a relationship with anyone he liked.

Even if that person was a blackmailing dominatrix who had already met her Soulmate.

 

It was all fine. John would be over it in a few weeks, surely?

It was all fine.

 

oOo

 

It wasn’t.

 

 

Sherlock could feel the game coming to a head - the press were turning against him, and now it appeared that John was too, going by his current anger, mostly directed at Sherlock.

 

"And now you're not even listening to me, are you? Jesus, Sherlock, if all you're going to do is lie there, you could do me the common decency of letting me have one successful date! I mean, God knows finding my Soulmate is hard enough without adding you to the mix!"

 

"Now you're just overreacting John. It was obvious she was not your soulmate - the name on her wrist for a start! I do not see why you continue to parade these Sarah's and Janet's though here and then insist in blaming me when they are not your soulmate! Honestly, John, without knowing your Soulname, I can hardly know better!"

 

"It's not as easy as that you prick!" John seemed to grind out; rolling up his sleeve to show Sherlock a messy pattern of black in lieu of a name, before storming up the stairs and slamming his door shut.

 

 

oOo

 

Things were getting tense – the press were hounding them, Moriarty was closing in and to top it all off, Sherlock refused to let him have even one successful date.

Damn him.

 

So John had none the one thing he told himself he’d never do; he showed Sherlock his Soulname. And then stormed up to his room.

 

Maybe it was better this way? If anyone could solve the mystery of his soulname, it was Sherlock.

 

John just hoped he would at least ask if he wanted to see it again; he didn’t relish the idea of waking up to Sherlock prodding at his wrist.

 

oOo

 

So that was the mystery of ‘What is John’s Soulname’ sorted…but now is the mystery of ‘What is John’s Soulname’, which wasn’t much better.

 

After a quick jog to the library in his Mindpalace, Sherlock easily ascertained that it wasn’t Greek, Russia, Hebrew, Arabic or even Cyrillic.

He wondered if perhaps he might be allowed another look at it, although perhaps not yet.

Get Moriarty out of the way first.

 

Yes, good plan.

Now there’s the next problem; ‘How to get Moriarty out of the way, while keeping John safe’.

 

oOo

 

He didn’t believe a word of what they said.

Of course Sherlock was real; he couldn’t have known everything about John otherwise.

And ‘Harry’ – surely that proved he wasn’t a fraud!

No, John believed in Sherlock Holmes – completely and utterly.

All he had to do was come down from the roof and they could sort it out.

Of course they could.

 

oOo

 

It was not until the roof that Sherlock realised he had done the very thing he had sworn never to do; he had fallen in love with John Watson.

 

oOo

 

Oh God, Sherlock, no.

 

All the breath left his body as Sherlock fell, crumbling onto the floor the same way that John had crumbled onto the Afghan sand all those months ago.

He could save him.

He was a doctor.

Save him.

 

Check his pulse, check his pulse, check his…

Oh God.

_Oh God._

‘John’.

Sherlock…

_John_

_Sherlock_

_John….._

“Sherlock...”


	7. Hiatus

Sherlock longed to return to London, to John, but he could not.

Not until John was safe.

He knew now, without a doubt, that John Watson was his Soulmate, and he spent endless nights tracing the letters on his wrist, watching for signs of scarring, reassuring himself that John was still alive, still waiting for him.

 

oOo

 

His Soulname was still intact, staring at him.

Obviously Sherlock hadn’t been his Soulmate.

Unless…

No. Miracles aren’t real.

_Get a grip, Watson. If Sherlock was alive, he’d have taken you with him, wherever he is._

_Time to move on._

oOo

 

Sherlock knew that John still visited him (or where John supposed him to lie), so he was unsurprised when he received a recording from his grave 18 months after he had left London.

What he was not prepared for was John's declaration that he was considering marriage, or indeed the story of his Soulname;

 

"---So, I realise I never really gave you much explanation about my Soulname, not that there is one really. I mean, thanks for not asking - I kept expecting to wake up to you inspecting it, so it meant a lot that you didn't, although really you were probably too caught up in Moriarty to care, so here goes.

I, uh, don't really know what my Soulname says - no one really does. I thought that maybe it was another language - looks kinda Arabic. When I got sent to Afghanistan, I thought it must be a sign, so when I came back...I figured I must have missed her...or him I suppose. It nearly killed me, but then I met you, and you kept my mind off it.

I've gotta tell you - seeing my name on your wrist...I really wish you had said something.

Don't get me wrong - I've got no idea what we were, or where we were heading, but I still think you should've said something.

Anyway, this isn't about you, or us. I've met someone, Sherlock. Her Soulmate's dead, and I don't really know about mine, don't know whether to hope she's sitting in my flat, or in Afghanistan...or if he's dead. I'm hoping it's the first one, but I know it's not, and I've got a horrible feeling that it was you. So if there's one thing Sherlock, for me---"

 

Sherlock destroyed the tape at that point - distractions were no good, emotions too painful.

 

oOo

 

He was going to get married.

To Mary.

To wonderful, Scarred, understanding Mary.

Who was not his Soulmate.

But that’s fine, just fine.

All fine.

He was tired of waiting for his Soulmate, tired of trying to work out the mystery.

Mysteries had lost all their magic for him now, ever since Sh-.

Ever since him.


	8. The Empty Hearse/The Sign of Three (part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooner than expected - the next chapter!
> 
> I've just got a new laptop - changed from PC to Mac - so I'm not sure if using a different program will have any effect on the formatting!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (Also, feel free to follow me on Tumblr under 'Johnlockdivision' :) )

Perhaps he ought to have given John some warning; returning to life in the middle of a restaurant had resulted in various assaults on his face and eviction from three - yes, _three_ \- different food establishments.

On the other hand, had he returned to John in private, it’s very likely the resurrection would not have lasted long.

To top it all off, it appears that John was quite serious in his intent to marry this ‘Mary’ person - Sherlock had someone managed to interrupt the proposal.

Quite unintentionally.

Really.

 

oOo

 

Of course he was still alive, the bloody bastard.

His first reaction was, clearly, one of shock and disbelief, but the ‘phantom’ had taken enough of a beating to reassure John that he was quite real.

Obviously the next steps were to hug Sherlock, then go back to refusing to discuss their feelings.

Yes, good plan.

 

oOo

 

Apparently John was serious about marrying Mary - and he had asked Sherlock to be his best man.

Sherlock found this problematic in a number of different points, going so far as to make a list;

 

> I have never been anyone’s friend  
>  I have never been anyone’s best friend.  
>  I have never been anyone’s best man.  
>  I have never written a best man’s speech.  
>  I have never written a speech.  
>  I am still in love with John Watson.  
>  John Watson will never love me.  
>  John Watson will never move back ~~home~~ to 221B.  
>  Mary Morstan is not an idiot.

 

Clearly these would require careful rumination and intense planning to solve…or he could just text Lestrade.

Yes, that would work.

 

oOo

 

Greg couldn’t believe it.

They’d been after this gang for months, and yet one text from Sherlock and he had come running.

What an idiot.

 

In hindsight, the helicopter was slightly unnecessary, although with Sherlock Holmes you never knew.

 

Right, best man’s speech…here we go.

 

oOo

 

They had been at this for 3 hours now, and yet Gavin had barely helped him write a paragraph.

Honestly, had everyone lost half their IQ points since he’d been gone?

And now he was pacing…great. Very helpful there, Inspector.

 

Diving back into his Mindpalace, Sherlock failed to notice Lestrade picking up the list he had written that morning, turning to Sherlock with a look of disbelief before picking up a pen and making amendments, replacing it back beneath the cushions of the sofa.

 

oOo

 

Sherlock panicked by folding napkins, of course he did.

How very…un-Sherlock like.

Honestly, Mary was a blessing, sending them out on a case while she adjusted the seating plan and did whatever other boring things needed to be done.

If only Sherlock wasn’t acting so…un-Sherlocky.

 

oOo

 

Sherlock returned to his flat - alone - after the highly unsatisfying case of the soldier.

Flopping onto the sofa, he felt paper crinkle beneath him.

Pulling out the list, he was stunned by what Lestrade had written, more pesky emotions bubbling to the surface. 

He needed an explanation, without any of that annoying sentiment getting in the way. 

Luckily he had an annoying brother for that.

 

oOo

 

 

>    
>  I have never been anyone’s friend - **Excuse me? I was your friend for years before John!**  
>  I have never been anyone’s best friend.   
>  I have never been anyone’s best man.  
>  I have never written a best man’s speech.  
>  I have never written a speech. - **You give them often enough**  
>  I am still in love with John Watson. - **Sorry mate**  
>  John Watson will never love me. - **You should have seen him when you were dead.**  
>  John Watson will never move back ~~home~~ to 221B.  
>  Mary Morstan is not an idiot.

 

oOo

 

“Brother dear, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Explain.”

 

Mycroft merely raised an eyebrow before he scanned the sheet in front of him, eyes softening as he turned his attention back to Sherlock.

 

“Sherlock…”

“No Mycroft, I don’t need your pity. Just…explain.”

“You truly did not consider DI Lestrade a friend? I suggest you remedy that immediately.”

“Noted.”

“As for the rest of it…John Watson was truly devastated when you were gone. Broken, half a man. I am certain that he did love you once, and I doubt that love is so easily forgotten. And that last point…well. You are certainly correct, although I doubt she is all she appears to be. Do not despair, brother, all is not lost…just misplaced for a while.”

 

The quirk of Mycroft’s lips as he handed Sherlock his list back was as close to affection as Sherlock would tolerate, sweeping out of the office as soon as Mycroft had finished his own deplorable speech.

 

Perhaps he ought to have asked for help with his Best Man’s speech?

No - he had received enough advice from Mycroft to last a lifetime.

 

If only.

 

oOo

 

Getting back to his drab bedsit after another late night at work, Greg didn’t have enough energy to jump at the figure sitting on his couch.

 

“Right, I’m a police officer, so if you’re here to steal something I suggest you clear out. If you’re here to hurt me, bugger off, and if you’re another journalist here to ask about Sherlock Holmes, sod off. I always said he was a great man, and I don’t have anything to add. Otherwise I’m going to bed.”

 

“Lestrade.”

 

Oh, sodding hell. Of course it was Sherlock. Perched on his couch like some sort of creepy cat thing at 11:45 at night, waiting to ambush him.

 

“I didn’t realise it was 10 years ago.”

 

This brought Sherlock up short, staring at Lestrade as if he was seeing him for the first time.

 

“You never thanked me for that, by the way.”

“I…thank you.”

 

Well, there was a turn up for the books.

 

“What do you want, Sherlock?”

“The list…I…uh. You’re right.”

 

Had he heard that correctly? Had Sherlock Holmes just said he was _right_ about something?

 

“Don’t get so confused, Lestrade. Obviously I do consider you a friend of sorts, I just didn’t account for that feeling being mutual.”

“Mutual? Sherlock, of course you’re my friend. A bloody annoying one, but I don’t let just anyone kip on my sofa.”

“Thank you. I realise you may have been upset about your exclusion from my list, so I am willing to answers any questions you may have…probably.”

 

Evidently, Sherlock was feeling vulnerable.

It was probably best to keep him here, keep him talking, while Lestrade asked Mycroft to search his flat.

Shooting off a quick text, Lestrade sat himself in a chair facing Sherlock, considering which question to ask first.

 

“You love John?”

 

Might as well get right down to it.

 

“And you don’t think John feels the same? Cause let me tell you, the way he was after your death…”

 

Greg watched as Sherlock slowly undid his sleeve, rolling it up to reveal a pale white arm, unmarred by any evidence of drugs, and a name etched upon his wrist.

 

_‘John’_

 

“I thought you said you were unetched?”

“I lied.”

“And you’re sure…?”

“Positive.”

“And John’s?”

 

A smirk.

 

“Well, that’s the mystery. Even he doesn’t know, but it clearly isn’t ‘Sherlock.”

“Or Mary?”

“No, not that either. She’s scarred anyway.”

“Does he know about...you?”

 

Sherlock withdrew, rebuttoning his shirt as he whispered the negative.

 

“I think that is as much sentiment as I can put up with Lestrade, and I’m sure Mycroft’s lackies will have finished by now. Feel free to bring around any interesting cases. Otherwise I’ll see you at the wedding.”

 

Sherlock swept out of the flat and Lestrade remained sat in a daze, processing what he had just learnt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realise that this chapter is more sentimental than the last ones, and not much John...that's because I just love Sherlock so much and he was so sad during TSoT and John just seemed so oblivious so...he can be having fun with Mary or something.
> 
> Also, I'm not sure if it'll come up, but what Lestrade paring do people prefer? Mystrade or Mollstrade? I'm guessing it won't be prominent, but I'd like to know which one people would prefer, just in case ;)


	9. The Sign of Three (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is a short one, but (hopefully) emotional, and the next one is (probably) going to be a biggie!!

The world seemed to be conspiring against John Watson.

Firstly his bachelor party consisted of a grand total of one: Sherlock Holmes.

Secondly they had somehow found themselves a case during said bachelor party and ended the night in jail.

And thirdly, the stupid client had interrupted what could have been the most important moment of his life; a simple hand on the knee could have turned into so much more, but instead John found himself more confused than before.

 

oOo

 

The day of the wedding advanced upon Sherlock at an alarming rate, no matter how much he might wish to stop it.

The dancing lessons with John had been nice while they lasted, the opportunity to hold John close too good a chance to miss, but now he was left with just the memory. 

The fact that he hadn’t even noticed Mrs Hudson’s daily tea trip was a sad testament to how badly affected he was.

Even she seemed happy about the wedding.

Why was everyone so happy? Nothing was going to change…surely?

Denial denial denial.

Maybe it would work, eventually.

Until then…

Into battle.

 

oOo

 

Today was meant to be the best day of John’s life; he was getting married to the most incredible woman in the world, with his best friend stood by his side and surrounded by his loved ones.

So why did he feel so sad?

Watching Mary walk down the aisle took John’s breath away, he couldn’t believe that such a beautiful woman would choose him.

However, staring into her eyes as he said his vows, he couldn’t help but imagine them a lighter blue, almost grey. He wasn’t sure where that thought had sprung from, but it made sense.

He wasn’t sure how long this mess of feelings he possessed would take to work out, but until then he had a beautiful wife and an amazing best friend.

That was all.

 

oOo

 

The wedding had been painful, watching John pledge fidelity to Mary, wishing himself in her place.

He had also apparently been befriended by a women who was so like Jim they could be siblings, and spent a scarily long time convincing her that he was ‘not interested’, in the end striking a compromise to help her find someone more willing.

The next bit though, this could be worse.

Standing in a room full of strangers, attempting not to admit his love for John, but somehow declare that he was _so pleased_ that he had found Mary, _so happy_ to be here, and wasn’t she _so fantastic_.

Apparently he hadn’t done very well, because everyone was crying.

 

oOo

 

“…in short, the two people who love you most in all this world…”

 

Wait, had Sherlock just told John he loved him? In the middle of his best man’s speech?

That was strangely…ok. 

Better than ok in fact…

And apparently everyone else agreed, going by the sudden surge of napkins being used.

Sherlock looked clueless, and slightly panicked, turning towards John to ask what he had done wrong.

And John realised that maybe he loved him a little bit too…

Standing up to hug Sherlock, something they hadn’t done nearly enough, John found it hard to let go, harder still to refrain from kissing Sherlock.

He wanted to kiss Sherlock?

Yes, he wanted to kiss Sherlock. On his wedding day. To Mary.

Damn.

 

oOo

 

Sherlock picked up his violin to play the waltz he had composed especially for John (and Mary), but instead found his fingers playing a different tune, a variation on the Waltz, exchanging Mary’s notes for his own, pouring his own love out and across the floor, wrapping around the man he loved so dearly.

If only he loved him in return.

Placing the violin back in the case, Sherlock made his away across the floor to greet the new couple (he refused to call them ‘happy’) and there impending arrival.

Damn Mary. Clearly this was checkmate.

Time to give up, Sherlock.

 

oOo

 

“Pregnant?”

 

He couldn’t believe it - Mary was pregnant, all his dreams seemed to be coming true.

So why did he feel so sad?

It seemed that Sherlock felt the same way, claiming that he wouldn’t be needed anymore, not with a new baby on the way.

Now if that wasn’t the most ridiculous thing John had ever heard him say.

Fortunately, his smile signalled it a joke, slightly, and John pulled him towards him once again, before remembering his wife - _pregnant_ wife - stood next to him, reaching out a hand to her as well. 

Taking Mary back onto the dance floor, he felt the world spinning around him, not comprehending what Mary was saying to him.

Instead, he watched as Sherlock left, realising that things were more complicated than he had ever imagined.

He loved Sherlock, had done for many years now, but then there was Moriarty and now there was Mary. 

It seemed they were not meant to be.


	10. His last Vow (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Mystrade was a clear favourite, although I don't think I've made it too obvious, so it's easy to ignore if it's not your thing!!!
> 
> I think there'll only be 1 chapter, or maybe 2, after this!
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed it!!

The weeks following the wedding had been hell.

John had been off on his sex holiday, although given his activity on the blog, clearly it was not as full of sex as Mary may have liked, leaving Sherlock bored and alone, and at the mercy of Mycroft and Lestrade.

Honestly, the looks of pity he was receiving from Mycroft and Lestrade were enough to turn him insane. 

The situation did not improve much by John’s return home; it appeared Mary was determined to domesticate him, forcing food upon him to the extent that he’d piled on the pounds and forgotten about Sherlock.

Which lead to more looks of pity, this time from Mycroft _and_ Lestrade, which ultimately lead Sherlock to do the unthinkable:

 

Go ahead Charles Augustus Magnussen.

 

And do drugs again.

 

But mainly the Magnussen thing.

 

oOo

 

John hadn’t heard from Sherlock in some time, and he felt himself itching for that rush of adrenaline again, hoping every knock on the door, every text, was a case.

Unfortunately Sherlock never appeared, and so John was left looking for his own adventure, helping out a neighbour for the sole reason that he got the chance to infiltrate a drug den.

 

Grabbing a tyre iron, he was once more in the psyche of ‘Captain Watson’, unnoticing of his pregnant wife until it was too late.

Even her declaration of ‘sexy’ didn’t get his heart racing as much as the thought of what was waiting for him inside the den.

 

Unfortunately, it was resolutely disappointing; the first ‘criminal’ he encountered sadly incompetent with the knife and too easy to take down for John’s adrenaline seeking body.

 

But of course that changed with a simple ‘John’ uttered behind him by the man who was usually the very definition of ‘groomed’.

Now here was something he could take his anger out on.

 

oOo

 

Sherlock had been enjoying his latest high, watching the colours dance about the room, his Soulname shot out of the window almost immediately upon the drug entering his system. 

It was only when Sherlock noticed the thread tighten, moving in much grander moves, that he realised he might be in trouble.

Bracing himself for either conformation or disappointment, he heard the man enter downstairs, the footsteps growing closer to the room in which he lay.

 

There was no mistaking those footsteps…were there?

 

“Isaac? Isaac Whitney?”

 

And there it was. The final proof; John Watson was indeed his soulmate, here to play the doctor to the poor sap on the mattress next to him.

Clearly married life was beginning to grate on him, although why hadn’t he called Sherlock?

Perhaps he didn’t want to admit how much more fun he had with Sherlock than his own wife.

Or perhaps he didn’t want to admit how much he missed him.

 

Oh well, as long as he was here, perhaps they would finally spend some time together again.

 

“Hello, John.”

 

And there it was, the look of Captain John Watson that said ‘run away, or prepare to get hurt’.

 

Maybe he had miscalculated slightly.

 

 oOo

 

John couldn’t believe it. 

 

The reason Sherlock hadn’t called was that he was _getting high_.

In a bloody _den_ as well - not even in the privacy of his own flat!

Did he not care at all? 

 

Apparently Molly felt as angry as him, going by the mark she left on Sherlock’s cheek.

Hopefully Sherlock would remember not to underestimate Molly Hooper anymore.

The ridiculous criminal, ‘Bill’, was here as well, complaining about his sprain and doing Sherlock’s deduction trick.

 

That was another blow to John; the fact that Sherlock had taught this druggie he had know for maybe a few weeks, and yet never bothered to teach John. 

 

It was the last straw for John, telling Mary to go home as he called Mycroft and Lestrade, informing them that clearly their new relationship had made them inattentive to Sherlock.

Clearly his anger was obvious, as even Mycroft could barely muster enough to argue.

 

Returning to Baker street, even Sherlock’s observation about the knocker did little to alleviate John’s anger, which blended with Mycroft’s own as they followed Sherlock to the flat.

 

Hearing Sherlock explain the case to Mycroft, watching them argue, was enough of a reminder of how things had been to reduce John’s ire, the final nail being Mycroft attempting, once again, to threaten him.

Had he learnt nothing?

Watching Sherlock throw him out was immensely satisfying, hearing Sherlock say he was trying to recruit John onto the case even more so.

 

It was like John had been transported back to their first case together, the same smile upon Sherlock’s face even. 

Unfortunately there were many more similarities; a woman, this time Janine (breaking John’s heart slightly) and then Sherlock dying on him, again.

Fortunately he also fought his way back, again, but that wasn’t the point.

 

oOo

 

He was trapped in a room with Jim - he was manic, singing.

His emotions were failing him, both of them. Both of him.

He had to get out…had to get back to John. Save John.

Couldn’t do this…he’d already done this.

Moriarty was gone…so why was he still here?

Climb Sherlock, climb. 

Get back to John…get back…

 

~~~

 

_“You don’t tell him. Sherlock? You don’t tell John.”_

 

Honestly woman, he had just woken up and she was already threatening him?

He had enough sense not to tell John, yet. He loved John, cared for him, unlike her…apparently.

 

_“If you tell him, so will I.”_

 

Pressure on his wrist…why? 

Ah. His soulname.

Of course she had looked. 

Checkmate…again. 

First the baby, now the name.

He was so tired.

Just…so tired.

He wanted to stop hiding, stop lying.

 

He just wanted to stop.

 

To go to sleep….

 

Sleep…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 **NO**. Not yet.

 

 

 

Had to save John first.

 

 

Had to show John his wife.

 

oOo

 

Returning to find an empty hospital room was not ideal, but at least he already had Lestrade with him, who was immediately on the phone to Mycroft.

 

“He hasn’t been back to Baker Street, so that leaves his 5 boltholes.”

“Right…ok. Any ideas?”

“Mycroft suggested we head back to Baker Street incase he returns, look after your landlady. He’s already sent Mary out.”

“Mary? Why would he…?”

“He works in mysterious ways.”

 

They made their way to Baker Street, working to keep Mrs Hudson calm as she fretted over the lost Holmes, making cup after cup of tea.

Perhaps he was not as smart as Sherlock, but Goddammit he was smart enough - he was a doctor for God’s sake!

He could do this…he could work out…why? Where? 

He would work out something.

 

Pacing in a Sherlockian manner, it occurred to John that he must know the person who shot him, moreover was either protecting them or someone else, certainly tracking them down.

Falling into his chair, Lestrade apparently took this as a sign to leave, warning John to call him with any news.

 

“Mrs Hudson…why does Sherlock think I’m moving back in?”

 

Thoughts were beginning to form in his mind, racing together in an unpleasant conclusion.

The perfume bottle on the table knocked any doubt away.

 

It would only be a matter of time now until he received a call, from either Sherlock or Mary. 

 

Unsurprisingly, it was the former.

 

oOo

 

It pained Sherlock to do this, to reveal to John that his wife was not who she appeared to be.

Part of him was terrified of what Mary would do to John, both in his guise of ‘Sherlock’ and once she realised it was her husband she was training a gun upon.

It had to be done though.

 

This was his gift to John; a wife more exciting, more dangerous, that he could have wished for. 

And a case.

Their final case together, most likely.

Sherlock knew he knew too much, knew how dangerous Mary was, that the name on his wrist branded him a target.

 

“Talk. Now.”

 

He lead them to Baker street, had to make them talk. Had to show John what she truly was; a client. A case.

An assassin.

 

The memory stick was clearly a ruse, had to be.

Of course, Mycroft, and therefore Sherlock, knew everything there was to know about ‘Mary Watson née Morston’. 

Including the fact that that wasn’t her name at all.

 

All these things John needed to learn for himself.

 

Watching him come apart, barely controlled anger, was beautiful.

It reminded everyone that John wasn’t a meek doctor, wasn’t suited to be a husband to a nurse.

The husband of an assassin on the other hand…that seemed oddly apt.

 

He was still angry though.

Why? Could he not see how much it taken Sherlock to give him this; give him Mary?

Could he not see how perfect Mary was for him?

Could he not see that Sherlock was literally dying, giving himself wholly for John’s happiness?

 

Fortunately he had already called the ambulance, shocking John once more.

 

As he collapsed, Sherlock decided that he really ought to stop making a habit of dying, although if he got to die in John’s arms every time, it might be worth it.

 


	11. His Last Vow (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Probably) only one more chapter after this!  
> I realise some of this might be inconsistent with the shorter version...so sorry! I've tried to keep it as consistent as possible!
> 
> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> :) xx

Moving back to Baker Street made sense to John; he needed space from his possibly serial killer wife and wanted to watch over his best friend.

He fell easily back into his life at Baker Street, making Sherlock tea each morning and keeping him fed throughout the day. The only difference from 5 years ago being the calls from his wife and lack of cases.

Instead he filled his time with tidying, both the room and his mind.

 

It was during one such session that he found the list, written those long months ago before John’s wedding. Taking the list to his room, John carefully unfolded it, pouring over each word.

 

  * I have never been anyone’s friend - **Excuse me? I was your friend for years before John!**
  * I have never been anyone’s best friend. 
  * ~~I have never been anyone’s best man.~~
  * ~~I have never written a best man’s speech.~~
  * ~~I have never written a speech.~~ -You give them often enough
  * I am still in love with John Watson. - **Sorry mate**
  * John Watson will never love me. - **You should have seen him when you were dead.** I heard him.
  * ~~John Watson will never move back home to 221B.~~
  * Mary Morstan is not an idiot.  **dangerous.**



It was not until he heard Sherlock asking whether John wanted Indian or Thai that he realised how long he had been sat, staring at the page.

Grabbing the memory stick from his drawer, John made his way down to Sherlock, deciding to start setting his life right.

 

oOo

 

Returning home for christmas was…interesting.

That fact that the Watsons were joining him was, indeed had been welcomed as part of the family, only seemed to make the situation even more surreal.

And seeing Mycroft sat at the kitchen table, safeguarding the UK while simultaneously peeling potatoes and bickering with their mother, was the oddest thing of all.

Although, Sherlock could begrudgingly agree it was nice. Homey. 

Until the foul smell of Wiggins drifted into his personal space and he began talking.

Honestly, the man lacked even more tact that himself, mentioning the possibility of Sherlock being murdered while he was still recuperating from getting shot. 

If he weren’t so useful, Sherlock would’ve kicked him out.

However, it was worth it to hear his mother claim she would turn ‘absolutely monstrous’ if she ever discovered who had shot him.

Sherlock couldn’t conceal his smirk, wondering how she would feel if she knew that very same person was the woman she was currently delivering a mug of what could only be described as ‘sleeping potion’ to.

 

oOo

 

He couldn’t understand why Sherlock had invited them here. 

Clearly he had a plan, at least he was hoping there was a reason for Wiggins to be here, but Mary?

Having not seen his wife for months, the size of her bump had surprised him, and it had taken him a moment to remind himself why he was doing this; why he had to make amends with Mary, at least for now.

Sherlock had explained part of the plan to John, enough of what he needed to know anyway. He knew that John wouldn’t, couldn’t, lie. Suspected that Mary would pick up on it in the same way that she knew Sherlock was lying (which now made so much sense).

He had to apologise, or at least make her think he was apologising, for everyone’s sake. 

She had a target on Sherlock, one she would shoot if John left her. They were sure of it.

At least, until she was safe.

So why was she making this apology so hard? Admittedly, John never told her she was forgiven, but she had never asked for forgiveness. Indeed, she seemed angry _at John_ for taking so long!

If he hadn’t already been told to ‘play nice’ by the Holmes brothers, John might have left there and then.

As it was, he threw the memory stick on the fire, telling the truth when he said he hadn’t looked at it (leaving out the fact that _Sherlock_ had, although hadn’t told John what was on it). 

However, she seemed genuinely happy eventually, pleased that John had ‘chosen’ her.

Clearly, she was still a woman in love with her husband. And she was still his wife.

Even if she was a trained killer who had tried to kill his best friend, and left John confused in all kinds of ways.

 

oOo

 

He could hear the Watsons talking, murmuring to themselves. 

Clearly she had accepted John’s ‘apology’, the simple words carefully crafted at Baker Street, giving nothing away.

If only John knew the ‘reason’ Sherlock had brought them home to his parents was not the reason he believed.

He himself wasn’t entirely sure; obviously he was taking John to Appledore with him, but he also wanted his parents to meet his John, at least once. 

Before everything happened.

He wanted them to know that he had found his soulmate, that he was the perfect man for their son.

He wanted Mary here so he could keep and eye on her, make sure John was safe, and show his parents why he could never be with John.

 

Hearing John fretting over Mary, Sherlock knew it was time.

 

Watching the helicopter land, he felt John slip something into his pocket, something that felt like a piece of paper, informing Sherlock it was his Christmas present…just in case.

 

oOo

 

This Magnussen bloke didn’t seem that dangerous, but then, again neither had Moriatry.

He did seem slightly creepy though, watching a film of a bonfire on loop, seemingly engrossed.

He would ignored it had Sherlock not drawn his attention to it.

 

There, on screen, was Sherlock pulling John from the bonfire. An endless loop of Sherlock throwing himself into fire, screaming John’s name.

 

And there was Mary…not doing much.

 

If this wasn’t the final proof of Sherlock’s love, of how wrong John had ever been to choose Mary, here it was.

Magnussen seemed to know exactly what John was going through, revelling in his pain and confusion.

Fortunately, John was also keeping an ear on the conversation between the two geniuses, hearing the confirmation that the drugs _had_ been for a case.

Clearly, he owed Sherlock an apology.

 

But soon, all too soon, Magnussen was waving Mary in his face, claiming ‘leverage’ and ‘pressure points’ and leading them to his vaults.

Which were….empty.

Nothing.

They had been tricked. Fooled.

There was nothing there.

 

He looked to Sherlock, hoping to see that he, at least, had anticipated this.

Had a plan, 12% of a plan, anything.

He looked defeated.

 

No, he couldn’t do this.

There had to be something, anything, they could do.

There had to be a reason Sherlock made him stay with Mary, brought him here.

 

oOo

 

He couldn’t bare this. Couldn’t bare to see John subjected to Magnussen in this manner. 

And he couldn’t bare what was coming next, the treason charge that even Mycroft couldn’t save him from, would barely be able to save John from.

 

He had lost, had gained nothing. 

Mary would still be threatened, and so a threat. John would still be in danger, Sherlock would still be alone and even worse, he had just handed over the national security of Britain to a highly dangerous man.

 

He could see no way out of this. The best he could hope for would be to save everyone else, even at the risk of his own life.

Hearing Magnussen call him a hero, he knew exactly what to do.

Raising the gun, he uttered the phrase he had told John all those years ago, their first night in Baker Street, and fired at Magnuessen, wiping the date free and signing his own death sentence.

 

“Give my love to Mary, tell her she’s safe now.”

_I love you, you’re safe now._

 

He could hear the anguish in Mycroft’s voice, but it was too late.

He had done what he had always sworn to do; he had saved John Watson. 

But at what cost?

 

oOo

 

John felt himself slip into parade rest, bracing himself for whatever Sherlock was about to say.

 

"You saw the name on my wrist, John. You know what it means."  
“Sherlock..."

 _He couldn’t be…surely? Not now. Not when he’s leaving._  
"No John, let me finish. I am telling you this now because I am leaving - you need not choose between myself and Mary. Of course, I will not delude myself to believe it's an obvious choice, but I have to hope that it would be one.”

 _Of course it wouldn’t. He would pick Sherlock in a heartbeat._  
“You asked me for one more thing, so I ask the same of you; do not give your child some boring, pedantic name, like my parents gave me. Name them something extraordinary, for that is what they shall be.”

 _He was still focused on the baby, at a time like this?_  
"'Sherlock'? How is that pedantic?"  
"My name is not actually Sherlock - it is William. I changed my name after I realised it may make it easier for my Soulmate to find me, although now I realise that it was unnecessary.”

 

And there it was - the bombshell.

Of course Sherlock had changed his name, nothing was ever simple.

And the fact that he was acknowledging John as his soulmate, whether or not it was true, was almost too painful to bear, especially now.

He accepted the peck on his cheek, knowing it would hurt both of them to ask anything more, watching as Sherlock left him, again, to board the plane.

 

He walked back to his wife, feeling a pain in his wrist to match the one in his chest.

 

oOo

 

He knew he would be dead within 6 months, Mycroft had told him so, and yet he didn’t tell John. He couldn’t put him through that again.

 

Running his fingers over his lips, he allowed himself to remember the feel of John Watson beneath them, reaching into his pocket to withdraw John’s final present to him, reading it numerous times, committing it to memory.

 

  * You have many friends, even if you don’t realise it. Lestrade is just one of many. 
  * I am proud to call you my best friend.
  * You were a rubbish best man, but I’m glad you were there.
  * Your speech was interesting, although it came out sounding more like a love declaration.
  * I’m with Greg - you’ve written many speeches.
  * I had no idea - I’m sorry. I’m also glad.
  * I do love you. I am in love with you - I’m sorry I didn’t realise until it was too late.
  * I’m home now, as I write this. We’ll work something out.
  * She is dangerous, but so was Moriarty and you managed to defeat him (although I’m hoping you won’t kill my wife…while she’s pregnant).



 

Blinking through his tears, Sherlock was about to return the list to his pocket when he caught sight of a small smiley face pressed into the corner of the page, right at the bottom, a small arrow indicating that he should turn the page over, where he noticed faint indentations.

Reaching for a pencil, Sherlock began to rub, revealing a letter that John had clearly written to him and never sent, instead leaving it for when he needed it most.

~~~

 

Sherlock,

 

As I write this, I don’t know what’s going to happen to you, to us.

We’re about to head to your parents, with Mary apparently, and I’ve no doubt you’ll do something stupid.

I just want you to know I’ve said it before Just incase you don’t know

Sod it,Words are hard. 

Just know that I love you, a lot. Very much.

If I’m your soulmate, then that makes you mine. 

So whatever happens…come back to me.

I don’t care about Mary, or Mycroft, or even Moriarty or Magnussen.

Just…come back to me?

Please?

All my love, to the end of my days.

Your John.

 

~~~

 

If the tears had been threatening to fall before, they were flowing freely now.

Even a call from his brother did little to help, until he was told that the plan had worked, that he could come back.

 

He only hoped John would still accept him

 

oOo

 

He couldn’t bear to watch the plane fly away, instead facing the opposite direction, until three things happened simultaneously.

 

Mycroft’s phone began to ring, Mary hand tightened in his…and his wrist began to burn.

 

Wrenching his hand away from Mary, he took hold of his left wrist, watching as part of the mark began to unravel, revealing the name ‘William’ in bright red, before it scarred, leaving the name ‘Sherlock’ inked beautifully across his wrist.

 

Knowing what this meant, he began to sink to the ground before Mycroft caught him, telling him that Sherlock was coming back.

Standing straight once more upon hearing the plane landing behind him, John turned.


	12. What comes next

Sherlock did not know what to expect upon stepping out of the plane.

He certainly hadn’t expected to be gathered into the arms of a short army doctor, holding so tight he feared he’d lose circulation.

Drawing back to say something, he was never given the chance as suddenly there were hands in his hair, drawing him down, lips meeting his own.

Firework seemed to go off, time stopped.

 

John Watson was kissing him.

 

Of course, the moment was broken by a polite cough from Mycroft, a smirk on his face.

Stepping away from John, although taking hold of his hand, Sherlock raked his eyes over Mary, her face unreadable.

He opened his mouth to say…something…but John got there first.

 

“Mary, I…”

“It’s ok John, I saw.”

 

Saw what?

 

Sensing his confusion, John turned to him, lifting his cuff to show Sherlock his wrist.

 

There, what was once a mess of black, was now the very model of a soulname.

The name ‘Sherlock’ standing stark against the scarred form of ‘William’.

 

Conformation that they were, indeed, soul mates.

 

He gathered John into his arms once more, pressing a bruising kiss to his lips, before remembering, once more, why he hadn’t done it earlier.

 

“Sorry!” 

 

He exclaimed, turning slightly red at looking at first Mary, then Mycroft and finally John, all three faces showing slight amusement, although while John’s was also open and full of love and Mycroft’s of affection, Mary couldn’t quite conceal her sadness, presumably at losing John, or her hatred, presumably at Sherlock for gaining him.

 

She managed a small smile, however, before walking back to the car.

 

“I should probably…” John murmured, going after her.

 

Mycroft merely raised an eyebrow at Sherlock, returning his mobile, complete with video of Moriarty, before turning away and making his way to his own car.

 

oOo

 

“Mary! Wait, please!”

“It’s ok John, I know. He’s your soulmate, you’ve always suspected it, but now you know. It’s enough for a divorce, there’s no point in contesting. Just…don’t just leave? Please? I still need help, and our daughter…”

“She’s still mine, and we’ll still help you, of course we will. Just…thank you Mary.”

 

With a final nod, Mary manoeuvred herself into the car, telling John to go back to Baker street.

It wasn’t a hard decision.

 

oOo

 

They took each other to bed that night, and Sherlock couldn’t help but brush his fingers, and his lips, over his name upon John’s wrist. 

He explained to John that Moriarty wasn’t back, that he and Mycroft had planned it, that there was no threat.

John tried to be angry, but was too relieved to put up more than a token effort. 

 

Leaving John asleep in bed, many restless nights and emotional days rendering him exhausted in more ways than one, Sherlock made his way into the sitting room.

Picking up his trousers from where he had discarded them, he fished out John’s letter, reading it through once more before making his way to his hidden stash, wrapping the letter around the drugs as an added incentive.

 

Returning to John, he had barely laid down before he had been drawn into the heat of John’s body, and he’d never been happier.

 

oOo

 

Waking up surrounded by Sherlock was absolute bliss, and John couldn’t wait to start all his mornings the same way.

Of course, just because they were happy didn’t mean everyone else was.

Almost as soon as they were up, there was a knock at the door and the elder Holmes letting himself in, filling them in on how parliament was taking the fake Moriarty threat.

 

Over the next weeks there were countless parliamentary talks on their behalf, claims about ‘human rights’ meaning the two soulmates could not be knowingly separated, and yet they couldn’t subject John to the same fate as Sherlock, knowing they would be casting a death sentence on an innocent man.

Of course, there was also the divorce happening at the same time. Fortunately, all this was solved with a simple letter from Mary, a meeting with a solicitor and a textbook contract.

And amongst all this, was Sherlock.

No matter what happened, John took Sherlock to bed at night (whether for sleep or sex) and woke up surrounded by him in the morning.

And wasn’t that a surprise? The usually cold, possibly asexual robot had turned out to be a very affectionate, sexually experienced…snuggler.

John couldn’t be happier.

 

oOo

 

No-one was surprised when the couple announced their intent to marry, but they were surprised to discover that it was not John but Sherlock who proposed.

 

Sitting opposite each other one night at Angelo’s, watching the candle play against John’s skin, Sherlock just knew it was the prefect moment.

Having failed to propose at a crime scene, lunch, the hospital and even in bed, Sherlock already had the speech (and ring) prepared. 

Sliding elegantly to the floor (in his tailored trousers no less), he drew out the box and stuttered out his speech, keeping his eyes on the floor the whole time, he finally raised his eyes to John’s, revealing they his eyes were also glistening with tears.

 

“In short, John, I wish to never be without you beside my side. Will you do me the honour of being my husband?”

 

He was expecting an answer, but instead he received a kiss bruising kiss, practically dragging him onto the seat with John.

 

“Yes, of course.” John murmured, kissing him tenderly once more, before watching Sherlock slip the ring onto his finger.

 

“Home?”

 

Sherlock nodded, allowing John to lead him home and do with him as he wanted.

 

oOo

 

John stood with Lestrade, watching Sherlock flit around the scene, ignoring everyone.

 

“So you’re really soul mates then?”

 

John turned to Lestrade, noting the small smile on his face.

 

“Really, really.”

“Well, you’re good for each other. I’m glad you’ve finally sorted yourselves out.”

“Me too.”

 

And that was that; moments later Sherlock kissed him in front of everyone, dashing off to leave John trailing behind, confirming to everyone that they were, indeed, _finally_ together.

 

oOo

 

The wedding was not a grand affair, but it was big enough.

Sherlock stood with Mycroft, while John stood with Lestrade. Molly, Mrs Hudson and Sherlock’s mother seemed to share the handkerchiefs, while Harry, Mike Stanford, Bill Murray and Sherlock’s father seemed to be exchanging stories. 

Even Donovan turned up briefly to congratulate them, as well as a whole host of Sherlock’s previous clients. There was even a bunch of flowers from Mary.

All in all it was a wonderful day, not as horrible as Sherlock had been dreading, and the honeymoon more than made up for it.

 

oOo

 

One lazy morning, years later, the pair were laying in bed, revelling in the rare lazy morning. 

Sherlock was enjoying one of his favourite past times; watching sunlight play over John Watson’s body. He was currently examining his arm, although he stopped upon reaching his wrist.

 

“John?”

“Mmm.”

“Why did your Soulname change?”

“What?”

“I’ve got theories of course, but what do you think?”

 

Opening his eyes, John curved his fingers around Sherlock’s own.

 

“Well, I think my Soulname is just as complicated as the man it’s named for.”

“John, be serious.”

“I am.”

“John.”

That famous sigh.

“Ok. I think that maybe ‘William’, that man you were, wasn’t my soulmate. Wasn’t you, the real you I mean.”

“Mmm, maybe. My thoughts were not dissimilar…”

“Or maybe you had to share your whole self with me before you were ready.”

“Sentimental rubbish, John.”

Sherlock caught John’s lips with his own, tightening their hands together, watching as their Soulnames intertwined until you could not tell where one ended and the other began.

 

Indeed, the entire premise of a Soulname frustrated Sherlock - it always had, but that was the beauty of it. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks! Hope you've enjoyed it! Please leave comments/kudos!
> 
> :) xx


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